


Clashing Storms

by Fnorpan



Series: An altmer's struggles across Skyrim - Female altmer Dovahkiin [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Arguing, F/M, explanatory ramble, in between/ filler dabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 14:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8164519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fnorpan/pseuds/Fnorpan
Summary: The civilwar is over and Iniethe has managed to evade Ulfric since the battle for Solitude. A fact he isn't really happy about. 
This is in no way sexual more than some slight implications, doesn't contain gore or such either. It's more a explanatory in between dabble to give some filler to the situation being Ulfric and Iniethe.
Enjoy!





	

It always fascinated Iniethe that the couriers of Skyrim found the people they were supposed to deliver a letter or package to, despite the often lacking knowledge of people’s whereabouts. You couldn’t find better trackers or more stubborn individuals. But sometimes she wished they weren't so good at their job, because she really didn’t want what they brought right now.

_“This is getting ridiculous.”_ Iniethe thought as she crumpled yet another letter from Windhelm. She hadn’t been back there since she left for the battle of Solitude and Ulfric wasn’t having it, it seemed. Always nagging her to come see him. Lately the letters were beginning to appear more and more like orders instead of pleas but it was still just as annoying. She knew she couldn’t avoid this for the rest of her life - that fact had become painfully clear during their attack on Solitude - but she had hoped to have some undisturbed time to reflect on things.

In Solitude - when they cornered General Tullius and that incessant woman, Legate Rikke - Ulfric had taken a hit for Iniethe. It wasn't anything major but that fact only served to make her even more furious seeing as how it was more than a little unnecessary. To fuel Iniethe's ire even further Ulfric's stunt also served to confound Galmar. He was not only the brute he played himself of as, he was smarter than most people gave him credit for and saw more than he let on. The old man had inspected them suspiciously for a long time - making her skin crawl from irritation - and he didn’t let up until Iniethe was finally allowed to end the pathetic excuse of a general that had cocked up Skyrim long enough.

When the general lay dead at her feet, she turned on her heels and stormed out of the Solitude barracks. Barely managing to keep her features neutral while her inner self was raging. Ulfric had reached out to her, called to her and tried to stop her from leaving directly after the battle but she didn’t even acknowledge him. She knew Ulfric couldn't stop her since he couldn’t afford to give away more sentiment than he already had by protecting her in that ridiculous manner he had. He was thankfully tongue-tied and wing-clipped in the presence of every soldier in the Stormcloaks and she spitefully used it to her advantage. She needed to get away or she would pummel him into the ground for his absurd behavior that almost ruined everything they had worked for before it even began. Then there was the matter of her not needing, nor wanting the extra attension that came with having him fawn over her like she was some innocent maiden.

Galmar caught up with her before she exited the courtyard and he managed to talk her into staying, at least until the victory-speech was done. He proclaimed the necessity of her presence to bolster the troop’s moral in their continued fight to quench uprisings as well as give them something to aspire to. His choice of words made her scoff slightly. The old grumpy Nord had grown on her and she apparently on him because he treated her with far more respect than she was worth. She knew she wasn’t even close to the role model they portrayed her as. And she knew that Galmar knew of her _many_ less flattering affiliations, even if he had no proof. But the troops didn’t know and he shared her conviction that they didn't need to.

Iniethe didn’t stay for the celebration that followed the heated battle, nor the feast that carried on well into the following morning, and she didn’t bother with goodbyes. There was too much risk involved with staying in close proximity to the bewildering man who wouldn’t stop dogging her for attension. So with the first opportunity that presented itself, she slinked off in the cover of darkness and didn’t stop until she was all the way to Riften.

So now here she was, running errands for the Thieves Guild making sure their status got up to date and following up on the tiny, tiny, little fact of their former Guild Master getting on her bad side. He had always seemed off somehow and just being around him made her skin crawl, but the longer she had worked with the guild the more she became certain Mercer had his fingers in some really nasty pies, even by her standards. And as it turned out, she had been more than right. Mercer had tried to have her killed when she got to close to the truth of his betrayal and now she and two other higher ups in the guild was hunting him. Iniethe almost solely for the satisfaction of ending him. Preferably painfully.

“By the nine woman! Don't leave me alone here like _this_!" the annoyed voice of the peculiar mercenary in her bedroom drew the elf back to reality.

She thought of Marcurio as peculiar because even though he loathed thieves, he stubbornly made Riften his home. And he even though he hated thievery and always complained loudly when she brought him along on those particular jobs, he insisted he stay on as her hired muscle. Or mage as the case was. As it happened he was one of the few more ‘soldier-esque’ imperials she didn’t want to kill within minutes upon meeting them and he was also one of the few people she could stand the company of long enough to get through a whole mission without wanting to lop his head off. Being the mage he was he didn’t get in her way when she swung her sword and since he relied purely on magic for fighting, she didn’t really have to bother with it. That fact made him even more agreeable to her.

At the mercs very loud insistence Iniethe tossed the crumpled letter aside, shut the door and spun on her heel to march her way back into the bedroom. Marcurio was currently sprawled across her bed, waiting impatiently for her to return after having their moment disturbed by the courier at the door. Sitting down on the bed she turned to the dark-haired imperial with a miniscule grin at his impatience. Leaning closer to the slight man currently eyeing her warily from her own bed, she carefully let her golden fingertips return to trailing his well-built torso. She examined every prominent muscle discretely bulging under his silky tanned skin and felt him take in a series of sharp breaths in response. She sighed as Marcurio started grumbling curses at her and glared at him from under her lashes.

“Quit your bellyaching! How am I supposed to heal you if you keep squirming?!”

Marcurio scoffed at her but his snarky remark caught in his throat, ending in a muted whine since the motion jostled his broken ribs. She rolled her eyes at the indignant imperial.

“Wasn’t it you who kept telling _me_ not to set of any traps?!” she mocked, as she watched him glare and hiss at being prodded.

“Well who’s fault was it that I missed the forsaken thing in the first place, hm? It wasn’t _I_ who decided to carry off every damned thing of value in that ruin!” Marcurio exclaimed heatedly, trying his best to keep from further wincing while glowering at the mer currently running her hands up and down his broken side. If the situation hadn't been so painful he might have enjoyed having her fingers exploring his body but the gods was cruel it seemed. The gorgeous mer wouldn't reciprocate even the tiniest advances and he had to settle with looking but not touching. Marcurio sighed with relief as the elfs hands at last started emanating that swirling, warm and bright light of one of those healing spells he never could get the hang off. Though even if it soothed the ache as it healed the injuries, it stung and itched like mad in the process and gave him a whole new repertoire of things to curse about.

“You didn’t complain when you got the heavy coin purse afterwards though.” Iniethe countered, smirking at the grumpy face of the mercenary. He only frowned and looked stubbornly away at her teasing.

She finished the healing spell and once again prodded Marcurio’s side with her slender fingers. The only reaction was a slight snicker as he slapped her hands away. The fact that her prodding only served to tickle the man was a good sign she thought while removing herself from the bed. But even if her healing fixed up the injuries, the fractures still needed time to properly set and strengthen themselves before he was ready for the mercenary life again. Meaning he wouldn’t be able to follow her for a while.

“I’m leaving for Windhelm in the morning.” Iniethe said suddenly, seemingly unconcerned by the dirty look she was shot by Marcurio as he got up to pull on his robes again.

“You don’t mean to take me with you…” he answered, more a statement than an actual question. He knew as well as she did that his ribs needed time to heal properly and that bouncing around on a horse or playing hide and seek with bandits wasn’t ideal in his condition. He sneered frustrated at nothing in particular, knowing full well of the importance of haste when it came to stopping that greedy bastard, Mercer. Waiting in Riften for him to heal was not something that the elf could afford and he knew she wouldn't risk having him around if he couldn't preform a hundred percent.

“No.” Was the short curt answer from Iniethe and with that all option for discussion was closed. Marcurio had hung around the elf long enough to know when he could sass and taunt her and when it was best to shut his gob, but he still didn't like being left behind.

\--

“Is it true?” a familiar voice rumbled from the shadows, making Iniethe jump as she dragged her weary self into her estate, Hjerim in Windhelm.

She had hoped to get some food, drink and a night’s well-earned rest before rushing of to Irkngthand to hunt down Mercer Frey. Especially since the war between Stormcloaks and Imperials were done, leaving her free and able to concern herself with other pressing matters. But instead of an evening of peace and quiet she was faced with this incessant Nord who seemingly refused to grasp the fact that what he wanted was as ludicrous as believing Molag Bal was capable of love and compassion.

“Is what true?!” Iniethe sneered viciously at nothing in particular since the dark prevented her from being able to see the man currently invading her home.

She was dead tired from days on horseback, minimum sleep and eating on the fly and the fact that her evening just got a whole lot more complicated made her want to strangle the man hiding somewhere in the darkness of her house. Using her magic she sent up a magelight to light up the livingroom, one of the only spells she ever used frequently even though she was quite proficient in the art of magic - it was the only spell that didn't give her a splitting headache. Irritated beyond words she dumped her helmet and huge sword on the edge of the table and turned for the kitchen. There, in the doorway, she could make out the contours of the sturdy Nord she had hoped would get a mitt catch a clue after their last blowout.

_"Great, now he isn't just annoying per letter, he's invading my home and blocking my food."_

Iniethe grumbled internally, wishing every pestilence of Peryite on the man. Outwardly she kept her face neutral as she met those storm-blue eyes framed by rather unruly locks of blond hair. Ulfric looked like he wanted to pummel something to death with his bare hands and didn’t move a muscle as Iniethe came up in front of him. She scowled at him for not moving, crossing her arms over her chest and refused to budge even though they were standing so close she could feel the heat radiating of the finely chiseled Nord.

“I know there are some ridiculous rumors flying around about you, but this… It's... Is it true? You… with… Ralof?” Ulfric looked like he had been forced to drink horse-piss spiked with nightshade as he strained to get the syllables out of his unwilling throat and she could not help but be irritated for his audacity in thinking he had a say in who she slept with. He was probably too oblivious to even understand the reason for her choice but it irked her more than she wanted to admit that he dared judge her. She glared daggers at the former Jarl standing between her and the food she sought, again cursing his very existence.

“Move!” She snapped at the same time her stomach wildly protested being empty and thankfully Ulfric did move. Unfortunately though, he didn’t relent.

“Well? Is it? True I mean?” He nagged angrily, following frustratingly close on her heel as she went over to the pot dangling in the heat of the fireplace. The smell of the stew that met her nostrils was magnificent, making her momentarily forget everything else than her raging hunger. She made a mental-note to thank Calder later - whom she assumed was not on the premises based on the telling fact that Ulfric was and even if the future King of Skyrim had seemingly lost his mind on one matter, he was still sane enough to be discrete.

_“Is it true!?”_ The insistent, near fuming tone of the Nord was as annoying as a flustered puppy, incessantly yapping away at your heel it grated on the elfs nerves until her neutral veneer cracked. She spun towards him with murder in her eyes.

“What’s it to you!” she erupted in a fit of rage, glaring dangerously at the blond man for a moment before taking a deep, calming breath. _"Food."_ she thought and did her best to continue ignoring Ulfric while busying herself with finding a bowl and spoon. When she was satisfied with her portion of the delicious smelling stew she snatched up some bread to go with it and shoved her way past the offending man invading her privacy.

Ulfric had been rendered momentarily stunned by the viciousness of her outburst and only glowered as the elf got her food and then brusquely made her way past him into the barely illuminated livingroom. She sat down at the ridiculously large table without a word, her back turn to him and begun slurping away at what he assumed was her dinner.

Was she serious? Granted their relationship wasn’t official in the least - they had only had one tryst after all - and he knew it would be more than frowned upon if it were to become known. But still, he had made it clear he was invested in her. He had tried to initiate more encounters but the stubborn elf refused and deflected them all. He had been pining away for her since she walked out of his bedroom that fated morning that felt like eons ago. He even resorted to begging before losing his temper and commanding her to come back to Windhelm. And now when she was finally within his reach, he wanted nothing more than to strangle her for being nothing but utterly impossible. Was he nothing more than a common lay for her? The thought made him bristle.

“What’s it to me?! What’s it…” Ulfric snapped, fuming as he stalked over to the altmer currently doing her best to ignore him. He grabbed her by her still armored wrists and hauled her to her feet, meeting the darkened glare in those silver eyes with an equally fiery gaze.

“I don’t exactly take anyone to bed!” he growled at her, only inches from her face.

“Oh? But I do??” Iniethe spat back, wanting to punch the man for his poor choice of words. But he was still holding on to her wrists, making the action of punching him a little hard to follow through. And she really wasn’t that angry. At least not yet. And truth be told, she would take anyone into her bed - as long as it served her purpose. She still raised one eyebrow to dare him to call her a wench one more time though and Ulfric, for once, seemed to realize his mistake and take the hint.

“I have tried everything and _still_ you ignore me _. Why?!_ I don’t take kindly to being used!” he sneered bitterly after backing out of her face a bit. He didn’t meet her steely gaze, keeping his stare on a spot on her shoulder instead but he still held Iniethe's wrists by her sides.

“Use you? How in oblivion have _I_ ever used _you_? Have you already forgotten who won the war for you?” She shot back, not knowing if she was supposed to get outraged or laugh her heart out at his words. By the deflated look on Ulfric’s face she knew she had hit the mark and continued heatedly;

“And have you forgotten that not everyone will swoon over you simply because of your position? It means nothing to me, other than heaps of trouble!”

“So that’s it? I am unwanted because of my position? I am what? Just one in a line of many for you?” Anger flared back into those stormy blue eyes now again glaring at her and she felt the pressure increase around her wrists.

“Call me wench again and so help me….” Iniethe growled under her breath as she felt her anger rising to dangerous levels. But Ulfric – in his upset state – seemed oblivious to both her words and anger as he continued his rant.

“Does it not matter that I care for you? That I am trying my damndest for you? Why do you _insist_ on ignoring me!?”

“What is it you want from me?!” Iniethe all but exploded on the Nord. Ripping her arms away from his grasp to shove him hard in his chest. Hard enough to send him stumbling back more than a few steps as his eyes widened in surprise.

“I am an _altmer_!” she reeled on him. Her hands balled into whitening fists as she stalked her way closer into his personal space with fury written clearly across her face.

“I might be a poor excuse of an altmer. Sold into slavery before I could even walk, raised an assassin in a constant state of war. Forced to fight. To live and breathe death and exploit any opportunity to get my objective done or die trying.” Iniethe gave pause as she realized she was disclosing information she had never meant to ever share with another living soul and her fury deflated into irritation.

“I might have reasons enough to hate the Thalmor with equal passion as any Nord, but _I am_ and always _will be,_ an altmer! You are a Nord. Future High King to boot! Get it through your thick head already...” her words were cold and bitter and the last sentence was thrown over her shoulder as she stalked back to the table to pick at her food. She wasn’t hungry anymore but she didn’t want to look at the blond man standing almost in the doorway to the room with the tiny furniture - a room built for children she supposed. His eyes was probably filled with disgusting pity - Iniethe mused as she poked a piece of carrot around the bowl of cooling soup - and if there was one thing she hated as much as the Thalmor, it was pity.

Pity from her parents had earned her a place in the institution she grew up in instead of death. Pity had gotten her flogged instead of killed when she refused an order to degrade herself for the pleasure of her superior. Pity had cost her, her dignity when she spared an incapacitated friend and got punished by being passed around as a plaything until she stopped caring what they did to her. _Pity_ , had robbed her of everything! Except a fierce determination and will to survive. And she would be damned if she would let this man, or anyone for that matter, look down on her with that hateful pity!

“So we’re equally damaged, who cares?!” the irritated words shocked her out of her internal fuming. The words seemed to bounce around her brain and ring in her ears to the point where she had trouble focusing on the rest of the sentence pouring out of Ulfric.

“We all have ghosts we have to live with and I don’t care if people will be prejudiced! If I can change, so can they!”

Iniethe suddenly found herself getting yanked upright again. Ending up face to face with those stormy blue eyes and enticing lips she wished she didn't remember so clearly. Ulfric was the first man she ever shared a bed with without any kind of ulterior motive - though she'd sooner cut out her own tongue than admit that out loud - and she still wasn't keen on exploring why she hadn't simply shoved him away.

Looking into the Nords fierce gaze she instantly knew where this was heading. She had to fight her own treacherous body who seemed to crave the attension of the man who made her sing and forget the world outside with such skill. There was a fierce determination in the Nords features and in the way he pressed her against him hard enough for her to almost feel it even through her ebony armor. His breath ghosting across her face instantly sent those relentless sparks of heat down into the pit of her stomach, just as it did the last time she found herself this close to the intoxicating man. She closed her eyes, concentrating hard on dragging her unwilling mind back to reality and moments later everything stopped in a shimmer of green.

No, she decided. There was no way she had time to deal with this now. She was still hunting Mercer, restoring the Thieves Guild and rebuilding the Dark Brotherhood. Then there was, of course, the situation with those huge overgrown lizards terrorizing the entire realm to take into consideration when planning future workload. She had no time to stop and wonder over unimportant, frilly little things like this man’s absurd feelings.

She opened her eyes again and glared at the future High King of Skyrim, noticing the angry shock playing in his eyes as she leaned in towards him.

“When I get back, you will do best to be gone…” Iniethe hissed to his face. But to her irritation, all she could see reflected in his eyes was defiance. Any other day she might have stayed and argued her point - or to strangled the infuriating man - but the unwelcome blanket of lighting was already beginning to envelope her head with the promise of brutal pain. This was why she didn't use magic despite knowing everything about the alteration and destruction schools. Before the headache could hit full force she sighed and untangled herself from the paralyzed Nord, picked up her sword and helmet and made her way out the door in a hurry.

There was no sense in delaying her departure to Irkngthand now when she wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway and with that depressing thought rolling around in her pained head she steered her quickening steps toward the stables. By the time she hauled herself onto her dapple-grey mare she was furiously rubbing her temples against the onslaught of a massive headache while internally raging;

_“By Talos! That man is as stubborn as a two-headed mule!”_


End file.
